Since moving to Maui and witnessing skyrocketing gas prices, I learned to coast. Whenever I drive Upcountry to Makawao, or Kula, I look forward to the return trip to Paia, where I live near the shore. There are a number of roads that snake down the sides of the lava slopes of Mt. Haleakala and I have learned just about every road or section of road in central Maui that can be coasted. I throw the automatic tranny lever into Neutral and let gravity do its work.

It has become a habit. What no one told me is that coasting can mess up your electronic fuel injection system. Apparently nobody has carburetors any more, which you can fix and clean on your own, but nobody told me that, either. Maybe I just don't pay attention.

Recently while on my way to play some music at an open-mic night at a Kihei watering hole I was breezing alongside a stretch of beach when all the lights on my dash lit up. Since they all went on, I thought it might be a good idea to stop. Brakes, engine, door, oil, or temperature lights going on individually doesnt faze me. With all warning lights, though, lit I took the hint.

What I discovered was the car was dead. Why? I had no idea at the time, but I did know this; the Boys were out (it was Memorial Day night), and they were restless.

My observation has been that a car left on the side of a road tonight on Maui will be missing any combination of obvious parts, such as tires, windows, maybe even doors, and even less noticeable parts like, um, the engine tomorrow. The cars dont get painted by Mauis wandering artists until about the third night and then theres little left besides the rear quarter-panels and a chassis.

Where my vehicle stopped was a functionally isolated section of the road with about one-mile between me and a phone and what I knew would be news of a $300 bill for towing. When I realized I didnt have fifty-cents for the phone call, I figured towing on that Holiday night wasnt an option.

Tomorrow. All that was left was to get me to tomorrow.

Ive been on these islands long enough to know how to handle myself if faced with some form of confrontation. It usually has to do with facing the person, as a person, and seeing the person as a person and taking it from there. There is a string of moments that relentlessly unfold that you simply have to deal with.

In this case, however, the only thing left me to face was me, and my fantasies of all that could go wrong. Id have surely preferred dealing with a seven-foot, three-hundred pound brute on Ice (local term, crystal methamphetamine)! The key, for me, was to continually place myself into the moment of what was, rather than falling into the pit of what I feared could be.

And what was, in that moment and so many of the following moments was that I was alive, the car was just a car, it was an exceptionally balmy, beautiful night, and I could walk 10 yards and be at the shore of one of the most remote spots in the world and watch and feel one of the greatest, life-giving forces of the planet lapping up at my feet.

Of course, that was in that moment and maintaining that continuity of intent through the next one wasnt so easy. I took two steps away from the car after having pulled out my guitar and flute and I promptly tripped and fell on my face.

The second my nose touched the ground and my glasses flew off, a street light, which I didnt know was there, went on. I laughed as I gathered myself, and then, taking what may very well have been a last look at my reasonably intact car, I walked toward the darkness.

Less than 20 hours later, I found myself inside another moment.

There I was, home, rested, well-fed, and secure. My car was intact, unscarred, unmarked, though still with no vital signs, and now sitting very comfortably in my driveway.

As if nothing like the night before had happened, there I was, in a new moment that was built on a foundation of other moments wrapped around the idea that, Here I am, everythings okay, and lets see what the next moment brings. Thats the way I had spent the last twenty hours. To the best of my ability, but in that moment, even that didn't matter.

I realized I would have gotten exactly where I was anyway. Yes, the people on the beach were kind, distracted, or too out of it to cause any damage, I had one friend to drive me home, and the next day, another showed up with a truck, and yet another friend loaned me a tow-strap. Clearly synchronistically (and uncharacteristically) there was an absence of Mauis Finest on the road to bust us for illegally towing my vehicle in broad daylight. Everything had unfolded just fine.

Now, by no means am I saying that maintaining that state of being was a cakewalk. It largely involved making a conscious choice to get back to the moment that was rather than wallowing in fear-filled moments that could be or moments that were, like Why didnt I take that automotive class in High School? Over and over and over again; slipping and sliding all the way.

But I did it. The only conclusion that I could come to was here I was, exactly as I am and all was well. By staying in the moment that was, the only thing I shorted myself out of was the experience of living a string of moments in a self-imposed, self-created, self-designed and self-executed Hell.

And it all would have led to where I was, anyway. The only question remaining for me today is where do I choose to live?